


Foreign Emotions

by kellbelle



Series: Fenhawke 4lyfe [3]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age II
Genre: #notallmages, Angst, Drowning, F/M, Falling In Love, Fluff, Friendship/Love, Near Death Experiences
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-20
Updated: 2016-02-20
Packaged: 2018-05-21 23:27:54
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,790
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6062110
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kellbelle/pseuds/kellbelle
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Hawke is terribly clumsy. When she falls off a cliff, Fenris jumps after her and experiences some pesky, unknown feelings.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Foreign Emotions

**Author's Note:**

> The one where Fenris screams at Hawke to not die and it works.

Hawke is terribly clumsy. The mage was insufferable in her obliviousness to her surroundings and it was up to her companions to pull her away from trouble. It was beyond Fenris as to why she held a reputation as a ruthless leader when the reality was far less dire. She was _kind_. Too kind.

Admittedly, she was stern when she needed and braver than most in the position of an apostate should ever dare to be. Yet her talents were those of a healer and not of a particularly battle-hardened mage of destruction.

She cooed at the sight of small animals and flowers with Merrill and laughed wholeheartedly with Varric and Isabela. She was supportive of Aveline and the abomination (something Fenris would not for the life of him ever understand) and gentle with himself. It was made obvious to the elf that she was deliberately holding herself back in his presence. She would approach him calmly and had not once tried to even touch him but she touched everybody. He did not appreciate being coddled.

It was irrational to feel so annoyed by her and yet he couldn't help himself. _So polite, so gentle, so sweet_. There was so much more to her than that but he wouldn't allow himself to get any closer to her. They were not quite as professional with each other as he would prefer, seeing as he would regularly join her and her companions for Wicked Grace, but there was still some distance nonetheless. Today, Hawke's behavior was off. None of the others had noticed because none had the experience of ever observing through the eyes of a slave. It was his duty to observe, to decipher the body language of those surrounding him in order to manipulate their fear and appear as menacing as possible.

It shouldn't come as a surprise. After she had returned from her expedition in the Deep Roads, her brother had made it a point to abandon his family and join the Templars. It could be seen as nothing other than betrayal seeing as how the Hawke children were raised to evade Templars their entire lives.

As a result, she is fumbling for words when she is usually so eloquent. She is tripping over her own feet and shaking slightly with every slight fall before she is inevitably caught by either Isabela or Anders.

The four companions eventually finish their original task and are finally headed home after a long day of braving the Wounded Coast. The sun is setting faster than they had originally anticipated and in their haste to make it back into Kirkwall, it is inevitable when there is a slight rustle and small shriek before Hawke disappears.

“Hawke!” Anders cries loudly into the night and there is no response.

It's just like Hawke to fall off of a cliff and into the restless sea after there is no chance of being able to see her.

Panic grips Fenris before he can fully understand what he is doing. Isabela and Anders are screaming over the cliff face while Anders casts veilfire and Fenris is lost. The lyrium alights and his body glows bright blue as he carelessly dives into the roaring waves. It is stupid, it is dangerous and yet he does it all the same because _this is Hawke_. She would have done the same for him.

He's vaguely aware of Isabela and Anders screaming after him but he is alight and fails to notice as he fade-steps, ghosting into the water to avoid the possible injury of his body slamming into the surface.

The water is too treacherous, for it begins to toss him like a ragdoll further and further below the surface. Thanks to the lyrium, he can at least see his surroundings as he swims deliberately deeper into the ocean.

The lyrium casts an eerie blue light around the seaweed and various underwater life and he is thankful that the painful markings at least have some benefit other than ripping people's hearts from their chest. The markings allow him to fight against the powerful waves as he swims parallel to the current in search for Hawke.

Time is precious and yet he has no choice but to resurface for another desperate gulp of air. Diving back in, he thinks he sees a wooden staff tangled in the seaweed further below. As he nears, he sees it is indeed Hawke's own staff that had snapped in half. Directly next to the broken staff was Hawke, motionless and hovering over the bed of seaweed. Her feet are tangled, her boots are lost, her pale mage robes are torn and her eyes are closed. She had given up already.

It has been long, far too long and yet Fenris angrily persists as he untangles her and pulls her desperately up to the surface. She is dead weight but he is strong and so he dangles her arms around his neck so he can use both of his arms to fight his way up.

They make it, him gasping for breath and Hawke motionless yet. The cliff is so far, too far, but the Wounded Coast is known for the scattered islands and so he uses his markings and the fade to throw himself onto a small patch of rocky land if it could even be called such a thing.

He lays Hawke down and doesn't hesitate to at least try and resuscitate her. He remembers the first aid training he had received from the Fog Warriors and focuses on pumping her chest with his hands. Her mouth is open and so he pumps and breathes into her, shamelessly pressing his mouth to hers in order to try and breathe life back into her.

He does this over and over and he refuses to entertain the idea that she's gone, that she won't come to his mansion for an idle chat, that she won't invite him along for her adventures, that he can't watch her smile at him anymore.

Fenris may be screaming at her about something along the lines of “stupid, clumsy, mage” and “fool girl” as he slams his hands onto her chest forcefully. His throat constricts, and his emotions overwhelm him as he yells and yells at Hawke to just wake up.

“Don't...” the warrior says pitifully, his shivering wet body falling into her. His head hangs over her heart where it should be beating and he knows he has given up. With one last push to her chest, he watches her lifeless body in anguish while the foreign emotions he is experiencing finally come to a breaking point. He releases a soaring war cry.

Hawke's body convulses, and then she's sputtering and coughing and there is a dreadful amount of water coming from her chest. Yet she's sobbing and shaking for breath.

The relief overwhelms him as he watches her struggle to breathe in the air around her. Her broken and bruised body is shaking and he wordlessly pulls her into his embrace.

“F-Fenris,” she cries and his throat constricts once more at the sound.

“Shh, don't speak,” he orders calmly, brushing her long, wet hair away from her face as he cradles her against him. It's freezing, they're stranded on a rock but she is alive and her heart is beating and he wouldn't trade it for anything.

“You're a fool.”

There is no bite to his words. He feels her breath stagger and knows they will not find warmth in their drenched clothing.

“Do I have permission to remove your clothes?”

He feels her wordlessly nod her consent and so he takes care to push her away so reach the clasp at the back of her neck. He brushes her damp hair out of the way and unbuttons, thankful that the impossible darkness hides his nervousness. Never before has he undressed a woman. Well, at least a beautiful woman that he could remember.

Yet she is shivering, her teeth are chattering, and her mana is depleted. Her body has undoubtedly suffered injury from the fall so he tries to be gentle.

From the very little light he is offered, he can see the bruising on her arms and legs. He leaves her in her breastband and smalls, and lays the wet and tattered mage robe flat beside them on the rock to dry.

He begins removing his own armor, shivering, and can feel her eyes on him. The rough leather armor is placed beside Hawke's robe and he can't help the slight flare of the markings in his nervousness. In the light supplied, he finds her thighs are covered in dark purple, fresh bruises and truly sees the fear written plainly on her face.

Hawke is trembling and wheezing, attempting in vain to cover her stomach and breastband with her arms. There is no wood to make a fire, no soft sand to lay her on, for they are stranded on a lifeless rock in the middle of the sea. It is only a miracle that there is no storm to freeze the pair any more.

Fenris feels guilty to see her in such a state. No one has seen the markings underneath his armor and he feels ashamed to sit before Hawke in naught but his dripping leggings. Yet if Fenris knows Hawke, he knows she wouldn't be disgusted with him. She's never looked down upon him despite her obvious attempts to shield him from anything too unpleasant. She only wants to protect her friend.

Tentatively, he lays beside her and wraps one arm around her shivering body. Her skin feels like ice, bringing a sharp but manageable pain that flares across his markings. The pain settles as he lets out a quick hiss, before pulling her battered body against his.

“I apologize but I have no wish to see you freeze to death. Our combined body heat should keep you alive.”

She curls into him carefully, her head tucking under his chin. Her arms remained caged between their bodies and she does not attempt to grab onto him.

“T-thank you f-for s-saving me,” she says, her voice barely heard over the waves surrounding them.

“It is nothing,” he responds because he doesn't know what else to say.

“N-no. Y-you saved a m-mage. Why?”

The question startles him and he bristles. She believes he does not care for her safety? How could she possibly think he could ever want her dead? Hawke is a mage, yes, but she is different. She is safe, she is gentle, she is sweet. Oh, but she cares for him.

“Do not ever ask me such a thing,” is all he says, trying to keep his tone neutral. He fails. He has felt far too many foreign emotions tonight and the guilt is slowly eating away at him.

Of course he has made her feel that way. Each visit, he pushes her away in fear of being coddled by her pity. He is vocal with his hatred of mages and those who would support them. Hawke is both of those things. A powerful mage herself, she has made it no secret that she abhors the Circle and Templars.

They say nothing more and soon Hawke's breathing slows and she has settled into his body. His heart swells at their contact. She is so soft and despite the strong odor of sea salt on their skin he can detect the faint smell of soft vanilla in her hair. It's so easy to lay with her in his arms and though he is by no means acquainted to such a tender touch, it is pleasant nonetheless. Hawke is alive, battered but breathing, and he is content to lay on this rock with her for however long it takes.

Alas when he finally finds sleep, all too soon he is awoken by urgent shouting and a searing bright sun. Fenris does not burn easily but the pale young woman in his arms is undoubtedly red and hot to the touch.

He lifts his head, spotting a small rowboat approaching rapidly. Isabela and Anders are there with none other than the Templar, Carver, who Hawke will be none too pleased to see at the moment. The elf groans, knowing full well the response he will receive for being in such a compromising position with their defacto leader.

Hawke remains fast asleep, wrapped in his arms and despite their audience he finds he doesn't want to let her go. She looks so peaceful and when she wakes she will be in far too much pain. At least the abomination has decided to accompany them.

Defiantly, the elf sits up and gently moves Hawke to lay in his lap. The rowboat has landed on the outcrop and their companions are collectively relieved. Isabela sports a knowing smirk on her face while Carver and Anders are positively fuming and glaring at Fenris.

“I'd appreciate it if you let go of my sister now,” Carver Hawke steps forward, his Templar armor loudly clanking.

The elf carefully moves Hawke into a sitting position but she fails to wake up. Carver reaches to cover his half-naked sister in her tattered robes before he picks her up quickly, uncaring for her fragile position.

“She is injured and barely survived the fall. She almost drowned,” Fenris speaks clearly, looking to Anders. The mage nods understandingly to accompany Carver to the boat.

“Don't say anything, pirate.”

Isabela chuckles smoothly and winks down to the elf before helping him off the ground. His back is sore from laying on a rock all night and his arm is dead from where Hawke's head was cushioned.

“Carver hates you now and Anders is so jealous. I may be a little jealous too,” the pirate spoke with a shrug as Fenris began to dress in his dried armor.

“I fail to see how you could be jealous of Hawke almost dying,” Fenris answers flatly.

“You got to play the hero, take Hawke's clothes off, and snuggle her all night. Need you even ask?”

They joined the others on the boat, all the while with Fenris scowling. Carver protectively shielded Hawke from the others, fighting with Anders over the mage attempting to heal her injuries. Isabela kept that smug smirk on her face while Fenris kept his mouth shut and his arms crossed in silent contemplation.

Perhaps he would talk to Varric of these weird _feelings_ (the very thought sickened him), so he could control himself once more. How could he simply return to the way things were before he knew what her body felt like against his?

He watched her almost die and somehow screamed her soul back into her body, such an experience would undoubtedly have this sort of effect on a person. His heart was cold and closed off, there was simply no place for a woman in it. Even if she was beautiful and kind.

The dwarf understands people. He would speak to Varric, yes. He would find an explanation for these strange emotions and he could continue fighting beside Hawke as before.

 

“Yeah, Broody, there's something very wrong with you.”

Fenris stiffened, his jade eyes widening in alarm as he stared upon the dwarf in his suite. The man himself however seemed none too worried as he acknowledged him.

“You have feelings for Hawke. It's okay, we all kind of do in a way,” Varric explained, a small grin appearing on his face.

“Although, you probably have the best shot. She makes googly eyes at you all the time.”

“Dwarf, I have no such-”

“Sure you do. You're in loooove with her, don't worry about it. I'll keep your secret.”

His markings flashed and a growl escaped his throat before the dwarf held his hands up in mock surrender and ushered him out, leaving Fenris to ponder these emotions alone.

Perhaps he did love Hawke. It was futile to deny such an odd feeling existed deep within him. Nothing could be done, of course. His main priority was finding Danarius and nothing could pull him away from this task.

“Fenris! There you are!”

As he walked down the stairs in the Hanged Man, none other than Hawke herself appeared. She wore new deep blue mage robes and unashamedly strapped her new crescent mage staff to her back. Her skin was slightly red and peeling and still she looked stunning.

Before he could find a response, she hurried over and pulled him into her embrace.

“I wanted to thank you again for saving me. I know I'm such a clumsy-”

“Hawke.”

“Right, thank you. I appreciate not being dead,” she beamed at him, holding him back at arms length as he stood there stunned.

“ _Festis bei umo canavarum_.”

 


End file.
